


One For The Money

by rosethorngirl



Category: Angel: the Series, Angel: the Series RPF, Bones (TV), Bones RPF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPF, Glee, Glee RPF
Genre: Daddy!Kink, Dom!David/sub!Mark, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, RPF, Slash, Unrequited Love, ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosethorngirl/pseuds/rosethorngirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be careful what you wish for darling, you might just get it all...and then some you don't want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: One For The Money  
> Rating: MA/NC17  
> Summary: Be careful what you wish for darling, you might just get it all…and then some you don’t want.  
> Warnings: Language, Violence, RPF, Slash, Explicit M/M Sex, Daddy!Kink, Dom/sub, Dom!David/sub!Mark  
> Genre: Slash/Angst/Romance/Drama  
> A/N: So thanks for clicking on this story. Just something that's been rattling around my head. The thought of David and Mark getting it on was just too hot to resist! Comments and Kudos are appreciated!  
> Disclaimer: Do not own Glee or Bones or Angel or Buffy or anyone affiliated. Not accurate descriptions of persons mentioned, claim to have NO firsthand knowledge of their actual lives or to know them in any way. Merely a fan getting shits and giggles out of stretching their bones. (pun not intended...okay, maybe a little lol)

Chapter 1/?

Mark isn’t sure what to do with his life anymore.

One day he was flying high on his Glee fame, everyone knows he is, he can get everything and anyone he wants…

And the next he’s back on the bottom having to do hosting gigs in foreign countries to remind people he’s (sometimes) on TV. It’s pitiful to say the least. He’s Mark frigging Salling, The Saw, DaMan, The Player. Who’s to question is awesomeness?

Apparently Fox studios. Because three months prior to the season finale of season 4, he’s staring at a buyout contract; the contract Janice, Jason and everyone told him would never come.

Because he’s Mark Salling, a star. A really fucking talented star! And no one knows the amount of stress and pain and time he's devoted to getting as far as has.

No one!

And yet, there he was. Sitting in Ryan Murphy’s office staring at a thick document filled with fancy words that basically say, “Nice knowing you, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

He was surprised to find himself with tears in his eyes.

"But, Ryan," he croaked out finally, looking up to the man he thought was his friend, “why? I mean, I - " he shook his head and took a steadying breath, “I don’t understand."

"Mark," the older man said in his usual crisp tone, “it’s simple. You simply do not fit the show anymore. You look older than you are, your reputation is to be a player and a jackass, the people you surround yourself with are all known druggies, you can’t do a proper interview to save your life, and parents tested you the lowest of everyone as a positive role model." The writer finished his explanation with a tight smile that stunk of withheld disdain.

That information hit him like a ton of bricks. Surely he wasn’t that unpopular. “But, I’m Puck," he said slowly almost as if he’s talking to a child. “I was the fan favorite-"

"-in the first season," the older man replied harshly. “Frankly Mark, no one really cares anymore. You show up like you just left a party, you distract others as they try to work, you caused undue stress to everyone when you went and cheated on your coworker because you can’t keep it in your pants, not to mention the fact that I had to pass a no sex on set rule due to those escapades-"

"-that Naya fully participated in!" He shouted. “Why isn’t she being fired? And it was 4 years ago!"

"You are not, strictly speaking, being fired," Ryan said calmly. “Your role is merely being…cut back." He stated diplomatically and folding his hands together in front of him on his desk.

Mark rolled his eyes, “Which is Hollywood code for ‘FIRED’!"

Ryan huffed and sat back further in his chair, “Well interpret as you like. Point is, you have become a liability. A costly one. You’re Roxanne lawsuit? Do you realize the kind of backlash I've gotten for that? Not only from parents that diligently watch this show with their kids, but also from the executives. They don’t take anything you say or do, seriously."

"This is unfair," Mark snarled. “That lawsuit has nothing to do with my job. I could turn you in to SAG for firing me for that and get this whole thing shut down!"

"You could turn me into SAG and I can show where your new contract clearly states you will have time on the show, therefore ‘not fired,’ and that I have sufficient evidence FOR firing, if I had so chosen. Further, it’ll damage any chance you have of being hired again as you will be deemed a loose cannon and difficult to manage. You’ll be lucky if you do McDonald’s commercials," the man tapped his fingers on the desk as all the information sank into Mark’s head. He wasn’t going to talk his way out of this one. “Now do you wish to sign and go quietly, or would you like to continue wasting both of our times on this ridiculous war of words?"

"You've wanted to get rid of me since I refused to sign with your friend's label and let you collect ten percent of my earnings," Mark bit out. 

Ryan grinned amused, "No, actually, it was quite fun for me to sit back and watch you fail and fall apart like the near sighted hippie that you are." He chuckled, "Hilarious entertainment, really."

That had stung, bad. Mostly because Ryan was right. His first attempt had been abysmal, but he had been a nobody with Jericho. If he can't sell with his fame at full speed, that's a huge red flag for if he ever will. 

"And anyway," Ryan snuffed as he grabbed a pen and placed it on top of the documents, "you were the one at the beginning of this year asking for a break so you can grow your hair out and start looking more your age. But can I just say," Ryan said pointing slightly to the top of his hair, "all this new look has done is make you look like a sad stay at home Dad, still trying to like a bachelor."

"This is harassment," Mark sighed, though he unconsciously touched his hair. "And I didn't say anything about wanting to be cut completely from the show."

"And you aren't," Ryan smiled. "One episode with your typical one liner and a nice shot of you swaying in the background as our stars sing lead is still on the show."

Mark had scoffed and stared at the contract in defeat. One signature and he was back to being a nobody. Fuck.

Which is why he's staring off into the great unknown contemplating what his next move was…or the back wall of the bar at a seedy bar in central LA.

No job. Soon to be no money. And even sooner ridicule from his brother because that jackass said from the getgo that being an actor and musician was wasting your life.

Mark didn’t get it. He was a good person. He donated money, he volunteered (at the places his publicist set up a gathering to witness his good deeds and for actual known charities, because I mean, who wants to stand in the sun and not get at least some thanks for it?), he prayed (when he remembered). So why was this happening to him??

He ordered another shot and wiped his face, annoyed by the fucking tears that wouldn’t go away.

Downing his shot, he looked to his left and saw a man he recognized come through. He was tall, dark hair, dark eyes, wearing a long black trench coat and ridiculous hat. What were those called? He couldn’t remember. Damn the guy was so familiar, who was he?

"Can I get a whisky? Sour?" The man called and sat on stool a couple paces away. Mark couldn’t tear his eye from the man, and finally he noticed, “Can I help you?"

"Uh," Mark replied intelligently.

"Oh, I know who you are," the guy said almost condescendingly in a clear East Coast accent, “Your Mark. Sally. Ryan’s kid. Or were anyway, sorry about getting the boot."

"Mark Salling," he replied irritably. “And you are?"

The guy looked him over as he got his drink almost wondering if the kid was serious, than seeing that Mark hadn’t budged, he laughed. “Wow. You must be living under a rock. David Boreanaz. Friends call me Dave. "

"Well Dave, you’re not my friend, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your insults to yourself."

"Never said you were my friend," he answered amused and took out a cigarette. Lighting it he took a puff and smiled when Mark scrunched his face.

"That’s a disgusting habit."

"Says the known pothead," Dave smiled and blew his smoke in Marks direction.

Mark rolled his eyes and flapped it away, “What do you want?" He asked angrily as Dave kept staring at him.

"You tell me," replied after another drag. “You were staring first."

"I wasn’t-" he stopped when he remembered indeed he was.

"Listen, kid, you got problems, I can tell. No one comes to this shithole if their life is peachy. I got ears and time to waste, so why don’t you let Daddy Davey help you through your issues."

"You ain’t my Daddy," Mark snarled in his southern drawl.

Dave gave him a Cheshire cat grin, “Ah, but I could be."

Little did Mark know, the biggest thing ever to have happen to him was about to start, and the answer to his problems was about to be given. Or were they?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2/?

Sometime after midnight, Mark came stumbling into his place. He knocked over his metal key dish and some of his bird books as he reached around for the light. Muttering curses at the brightness, he covered his eyes and made his way to the white couch in his small living room. He sat down and then wavered as the vertigo hit him. 

Slowly he laid down and sighed deeply. Sleep. He needed sleep. 

But he knew he wouldn’t be lucky enough for it to come. 

As far as apartments go, Mark’s wasn’t what you would call luxurious by any means. Sure there was a gatekeeper for the complex that was on duty 24/7 and watched everyone that came in and out, but it wasn’t like the place itself was all that awe-inspiring. Standard white appliances, small kitchen, two rather tiny bedrooms, and one full bath. 

Nothing to write home about. (pun intended)

Definitely not something you’d expect of a television star…or ex one as it were. But it was nearly three grand a month and was heavily secure, so it served its purpose.

His conversation with David had ended almost as quickly as it began. Mark wasn’t exactly one to start pouring all his woes out to someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a perfect stranger. Even if for some reason he had felt like maybe it would be okay if he did. He didn’t know David, had only sort of half met him once before, and had no wish for anyone else to pity him. He pitied himself enough for everyone, thank you.

But the man had been…off-putting. Something about him caused Mark’s proverbial feathers to ruffle. Could have been his slightly smug attitude, or the way he just seemed to be looking for a way to poke at him somehow. It both pissed off and intrigued the musician to no end.

And there was no denying that David was attractive. Very much so, in fact. He breathed sexuality, and made your whole body throb with want from him simply looking at you…and yeah. Okay. So that may be a big reason for was why he was drawn to him. 

When he had been in his presence he couldn’t get over the man’s arrogance to even see him as a sexual option; but now that he thought about it…damn. David freaking Boreanaz had been flirting with him! What the actual fuck?

Suddenly his cell rang which made him jump and then groan when his head gave an answering throb. Fucking hell, who was calling him this late?

He rutted around in his pants pocket and pulled out his iPhone. Looking at the screen he rolled his eyes. Of course. It would be the one he had been avoiding like the plague since February, after he had spent the night (once again) drinking his problems away and generally just wallowing in self-misery. He debated for a half second and then decided fuck it, he was still just buzzed enough to maybe have this conversation.

“Yes?” he exhaled, not having enough energy to even try and give a proper sounding greeting.

“Uh,” Chord false started, “you picked up.”

Mark blinked. “Yeah. I guess I did, since, you know, I’m talking to you,” he said sarcastically.

There was a sigh, “I’m sorry, it’s just we haven’t actually spoken in…” there was a pregnant pause that set Mark’s teeth on edge. He was wrong, he couldn’t do this. It was too soon, even though it was June and The Event happened four months ago. “…well, it’s been awhile anyway.”

Mark snorted, “Yeah. You could say that.”

That seemed to irritate his former best friend, because he said rather snidely, “Well it’s not like I haven’t been trying. You just haven’t been answering. Anything.”

Narrowing his eyes, the Texan responded in a similar tone, “Well I wonder why I haven’t, Chord? Do you have any idea?”

Chord sighed at this, “Please don’t do this, Marky. I didn’t call you to start a fight.”

“Don’t call me Marky,” the not completely sober man replied tiredly. “Only my friends get to call me that.”

“I am your friend.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Last I checked friends don’t fuck friends and then leave the next morning before the other one wakes up to even say goodbye.”

There was a tense silence. “You’re right,” the other softly replied. “You’re completely right. I’m sorry. I pulled an asshole move, and – “

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” Mark said and rolled over onto his back, staring at his flat white ceiling. “Why did you even call? Or keep calling for that matter? That morning I got the message pretty loud and clear that you weren’t interested, but yet you’ve still been calling and texting me like maybe you are. And Chord, I’m sorry but…I just don’t have enough empty headspace to deal with this drama too.”

“I just…” he stopped and Mark could almost envision Chord laying on his bed, pillow under his hand and phone under his face as he stares out at his bedroom wall. 

“You just…what?” the Texan asked him almost softly as he felt the alcohol causing him to become more drowsy and less…whatever he was before. 

“I missed you,” Chord’s voice sounded thick, like he was choking on tears. It made Mark’s own eyes water, but he sniffed and ignored it. “I miss you, man. So much. You were – are my best friend. We did everything together – and…”

“And now, from I’ve been reading on Twitter, Sam’s been filling that void, just fine,” Mark bit out. “What do you really want, Chord? It’s twelve forty-five at night! I don’t even fucking know why I picked up.” He growled and pushed up to get off the couch.

“You picked up, because you miss me too.”

That made Mark pause.

“You do. You know you do,” Chord urged. “You’ve been replaying that night over and over again…just like I have.”

“Don’t play with me,” Mark said. “I was right there. Right there. And you blew me off.”

“Mark – “

“No!” he yelled and stood up. “I had to watch you fuck around with Emma and Naya and even all the sluts at all the clubs, and that was fine!” he almost screeched. He hadn’t been this angry in a long time. As a rule, Mark doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t yell, scream, and throw fits. Hell, he doesn’t even like to argue, really. The most he gets is bitingly sarcastic. He avoids real trouble at all costs. But sometimes, it sneaks up on him, and all the repressed feelings just come bubbling up like hot lava and erupt. He hated that. “That was fine because I could go on pretending that what we had was special. Even though there was nothing at all besides friendship. And you let me harbor my crush and you dangled it in front of my face, then you – yes you – took me upstairs to your room, and made me believe that what I’d been dreaming about was coming true.”

There was a noise on the other end, sounding like a sob, “I didn’t – “

“Yes you fucking did, asshole,” Mark barked. “Don’t even play that game. Yes, you motherfucking did!”

“I did not!” Chord shouted back. Mark deflated some, but crossed his arms. Ready to pounce if the opportunity arose. “I did not know that, okay? When you told me you were – you know…”

“Bi?” Mark said sardonically.  
“…yeah…I didn’t even think you could think of me as anything other than a friend. I mean, we were like brothers, basically. And I had no inclination of any kind to men, period. And on my birthday, it just – I was just – you were so – I don’t know. I don’t know, man.”

“I was there,” Mark finished for him. “I was just there, and drunk, and in love with you. And willing to let you do whatever you wanted.”

“Well…yeah. But you have to remember I was drunk too. I would have never done that sober!”

Mark scoffed and then sniffed. “You are an asshole. You would have never had any interest in me sober. Wow, Chord.”

“No!” he yelled in desperation. “I mean, yes – I mean – fuck! I don’t know I just…I woke up the next morning and I realized I took advantage of you, and that there was no way to apologize for it. And I panicked cause I thought you’d hate me, and then – well I made you hate me anyway.”

There’s silence as Mark processes that. It hurt, hearing Chord’s words. It hurt a lot. But he was right, at least to some degree. If he had that morning stayed, and told the amateur ornithologist that he hadn’t meant it or that he had just fucked him because he was there and willing…well…he probably never would have allowed Chord to talk to him again. In fact, he’s considering at the moment hanging up and just forgetting it even now. 

But there was something holding him back. The fact that the other man had said that he had been thinking about that night. Reliving it. Could that mean - ? Does he even want to know if - ?

“How do you,” he false started. “What do you feel now? About me and – and about that night?”

“To be honest,” Mark held his breath at that, “I’m confused.” Chord said on a sigh. Mark sank into the couch, along with his heart. “You have to understand, before you I never even thought about it; and then – yeah.”

Mark just shook his head. Would he ever catch a break? “Perfect end to the perfect day,” He said and felt the tears come to fore again as he chuckled humorlessly. “I mean I really, really, really, have such a shit life. It’s almost unbelievable. Certainly pathetic, but – God!”

“Mark, I – “

“No!” He said sternly. “No. That is enough for one night. I am going to bed. And I am going to sleep until noon. And then I am going to figure out what to do with my mess of an existence. And you are going to leave me alone.”

“But – “

“Alone!” he told him with a growl. “I need time, Chord. I don’t know what you expected when you called me tonight, or any of the other times you’ve called me otver the past four months. But if it’s for us to walk away buddy-buddy pretending that night never happened and all if well with the world, then you are naïve and stupid. Don’t call me. If and when I want to talk, I’ll get in contact with you. Good-bye, Chord.”

With that he hung up and dropped the phone on his table, ignoring the protests.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so completely devastated by Corey's passing. He was a wonderful person. Always kind and generous. You never hear a bad word about him, because he treated everyone with the respect they deserve. The world has suffered a great loss. But let's not forget his family, girlfriend Lea, and friends; we need to keep them in our thoughts and send our love. It's least we can do, being such super fans of this show. We were given joy and love and laughter, every time he came on the screen; so let's give that back ten fold to his loved ones, and let them know we care.
> 
> A/N2: The song used is "Blame It On The Black Star," by Eliza Lumley. This chapter is split 50/50 between Chord and Dave (technically). But I want to make this clear, this is a Mark/Chord endgame story. It's just going to go around the bend and back to where he belongs. I'm also trying to stay in character as much as possible, and I want to say ahead of time "I am not trying to portray Chord as a dick." He's just clueless, but good things come to those who wait. Enjoy!

Chapter 3  
Two Weeks Later

 

~D&M&C~

I get home from work  
And you're still standing in your dressing gown  
Well, what am I to do?  
I know all the things around your head  
And what they do to you

Mark swirled his red Moscato in his glass as he stared at the abstract painting on the white wall in front of him, and listened to the soft jazz.

Truthfully, Mark's own inner artist was cringing from merely the use of the neon coloring splashed across the canvas. It was chaotic swirls, reminiscent of the horrid 70s tie-die that was trying (and failing) to give a "Starry Night" look and feel. The musician turned his nose up at it and took a long sip of his wine.

What are we coming to?  
What are we gonna do?

Blame it on the black star  
Blame it on the falling sky  
Blame it on the satellite  
That beams me home

In the two weeks since the Texan had talked to his former best friend, he had changed a few things in his life.

Like for one, he picked up a martial arts class, because Jason had suggested it would be a great thing to list on his resume. At his age, he was in his prime for big action movie roles but directors won't look twice at him if they find out that other than high school, he's had no real combat experience. Sure, he may never become a Tom Cruise and do his own stunts, but he does need to at least look like he knows what he doing.

For another, he sat down with his manager and publicist and asked them the tough questions. Like where his career could possibly go now that his stint on Glee was over; how had Glee positively and negatively affected his pool of potential jobs; and finally, how he can patch up the negative and possibly change the public's view of him.

Thus, his days of partying had, for the most part, had come to an end.

No more posts of him in white trash clothing that advertised alcohol, or staying out until the ass crack of dawn giving civilians the chance to take pictures of him living it up. No more taking multiple girls or boys home with him; in fact, no taking anyone home at all.

They explained to him, in no uncertain terms, that if he really wanted to be taken seriously as an actor and a human being than he needed to grow up and act like a serious actor and human being. He's not some college student, and life ain't no spring break. And if he stuck to that then slowly the opinions of public will change; and ultimately, as an added bonus, he'll even help his lawsuit.

If he no longer has a playboy image, than people will be more willing to believe he never touched Roxanne in a means to hurt her. Which he didn't. She's a liar, and most sane people believe she is. But his reputation is against him in the eyes of a judge.

So you could say that is a large motivator for him to turn things around quickly.

Troubled words of a troubled mind  
Try to understand what is eating you

He hummed as he turned away from the monstrosity posing as artwork, and moved a little further into the gallery.

He felt very out of place.

There were so many people – famous people – dressed to the nines, chatting and munching on little crackers with fancy cheese and journalists moving through the crowds begging for quotes and pictures…Mark hated it.

He knew Janice got him an invite to this event with the hope that he could begin to reprogram his brain with what was acceptable party behavior, but all he really wanted to do was rip the suit he forced into, into a million pieces before getting a beer and lounging in sweat pants. Shirt optional.

He wasn't mentally designed to rub elbows with the uppity folk. He was a cowboy, pretty much in every sense of the word. He belonged on a ranch with his dog, riding horses, and singing his songs about broken hearts and promises around a campfire at night.

But he needed this image revamp. He needed his career to get back on track.

He needed to admit to himself he'd been doing all this to keep his mind busy, so he wouldn't dwell on the fact that he missed his best friend.

Try to stay awake but it's 58 hours  
Since that I last slept with you

He stopped in front of a sculpture made from what looked like marble. It was of a person, no obvious gender specified, standing with sheets wrapped around their body. The Texan guessed it was meant to be the image of a woman; but seeing as there was no breast curved into the stone or definite hair either, it could just as easily be man.

The piece, more than anything else he'd seen called to him. Whispered in his ear the memory of that night that he'd tried so hard to repress.

*"What are you doing?" Chord's voice rumbled into his ear from behind him.

Mark was sitting at their table, in the Caesar's Palace nightclub, staring off into space and pushing the piece of cake they had cut up earlier around the fancy plate.

The music had died down considerably since Chord finished his DJ set – if you could call it that, anyway. Pauly D mostly just let him screw around and laughed at the sounds he came up with, since it was his birthday after all, and they were friends. The crowd wasn't complaining, so all was good. He blushed slightly and smiled shyly as he looked over his shoulder into the other man's clear blue eyes. "Nothing," he answered and put his fork down. "You have fun?" he asked as he gestured to the stage.

Chord grinned, and sat next to his buddy, "A blast!" He reached for his mojito he had left and finished it off with one gulp.

"That's good," Mark said, trying to make sure he sounded extra cheerful. "Happy Birthday," he said and picked up his 7and7, taking a sip.

Chord eyed him critically, "What's up with you?" he asked. "Nicole was totally sending you 'come hither' vibes when we got here, and for the most part you've been sitting here like someone stole your favorite toy."

The Texan withheld his snort, because it was almost exactly like that. But he could never say that aloud. "Not really into Nicole, man," he said with a shrug. "She's Janice's assistant. I really don't want to piss off my publicist for a one off, you know?"

Chord nodded at that. "Alright, alright," he acquiesced. "I get that, yeah." He thought for a moment, "What about Monica? Her friend. She's cute, and totally your type," he slurred slightly. "Small, tan, dark haired. Fits you to a 'T.'"

The older man shook his head, "Not so much anymore."

The Tennessee bred man scoffed, "Oh yeah? Than who? What?" he chuckled. "You are bound to a type, Mark. You like the exotic variety of the spectrum. In both boys and girls. I remember that one dude you ditched me for two years ago. What was his name?" he pretends to think.

Mark rolls his eyes and twists his bracelets, "Rodrigo."

"That's the one," the insufferable man grinned. "The name screams foreign. Hell, I even think he was, right?"

"Rodrigo was from Spain," Mark said with a huff. "And I didn't like him because of that, I liked that he was – "

"Big," Chord teased and began dramatically saying, "Buff, made you feel like your fling could last forever, held you and said your name with a Spanish flourish –"

"Shut the fuck up," Mark interrupted and gave a snickering Chord a glare. "He was not just a fling. We dated for two and a half months, and then his Visa was up and he had to go home. I still Facebook him sometimes, and he was in no way big."

Chord rolled his eyes, "Whatever, man. Point is you need a new squeeze, and I'm going to find them for you."

Mark just snorted and took another small sip of his drink; then he smiled sweetly as an older man and his wife cautiously approached the table and asked for a photo. He nodded and posed with them and then wished them a happy evening as they scampered away excitedly.

Chord just laughed as they walked away, "Dude. No matter where we go, it's always you that gets the fans asking for photos. You or Darren."

Mark scowled slightly, "It's not as if I actively look for them too. I'd rather be left alone, you know that."

The other man shook his head, "Yeah, 'cuz you're a big, anit-social, nerdy, musician; that would rather spend his time blazing trails in the forest and talking to birds, than interacting with live humans." He snickered.

Mark bristled at his friend's comment. He hated that Chord would think of him like that. He knew it was probably the alcohol talking, but it still hurt.

As he dwelled on that, a waitress passed and Chord flagged her down, "Can we get a round'o shots, and another round'o drinks please?"

She nodded eagerly, but Mark looked at his glass and waved the girl off, "I haven't even finished this one – " he tried to say, but Chord cut him off.

"He's talking crazy, we need another round and a couple shots," he winked at her. She was your typical nightclub waitress. Very pretty, blonde, blue eyed, and big breasts.

Mark just looked to the side with a sad sort of smile. The things he'd never be.

"Right away, Mr. Overstreet," she said huskily.

Chord leered back, and then looked to his friend. "Totes hitting that tonight," he grinned.

Mark just nodded, "Good for you, man. Birthday boy's present, huh?"

"You know it!" he laughs.

There was a pause in their conversation as Chord obviously ogled her ass and smirked back at his friend. "You want me to ask if she has a friend?"

He fought the urge to growl and instead just rolled his eyes.

"Aw, come on, man!" Chord slurred, "It's my birthday. Your excuse to get wasted and act like an idiot, so when it's your birthday, I have an excuse to get wasted and act like an idiot. You see?"

"Didn't know you needed one," he muttered and felt his blood boil as the girl approached their table again, having obviously put on more lipstick and unbuttoned another button of her shirt.

She smiled as she set the drinks out and Chord asked for her number, which (shocker) was already written on a napkin. She winks as she sashays away, and Mark suddenly has the urge to puke. But instead he finishes off his 7and7 and shakes his head to clear away any dark thoughts.

His friend was right. He needed to be drunk.

"So," said friend drawls, "You never really answered the question."

At this Mark just blinked, "What?"

"What is your type now? If it isn't Naya or Rodrigo-esque, than what?"

Mark chewed on this thought, "Well I wouldn't say type as in a broad term, more of a singular person."

Chord's eyes lit up, "Dude, it's Janice, right? I so knew it when you passed on Nicole; cause, dude, that chick is smokin'."

Mark scowled at him, "Wrong gender."

"Oh," he drawled. "Huh. Do I know him?"

Feeling anxiety welling up in his gut, he nodded and ducked his head.

Chord grinned devilishly, "Is it Darren? It is, right? I've noticed your eyes lingering a little too long…"

Mark shook his head and ignored the sound of confusion from his friend. He downed his shot. Here goes nothing, "Actually," he coughed slightly, "it's someone a little closer to – "

"Chord!"

They both jump and Mark's heart fell when he saw who it was.

Justing Monroe.

Mr. World Traveler.

Mr. I can do anything.

Mr. Best friend thief.

Mark really fucking hated that guy. Ever since they met him in London for the tour a couple years ago, it's as if the guy has Chord on a homing device.

They met him in a night club. He had introduced himself as the owner and partied with them for the night. He had seemed like an okay guy. But then, chord started like talking to him regularly. It was Justin said this, or Justin did that. Or look at this picture, he's so inventive. Ha ha. Ha ha ha-hah-hah fucking ha.

It was like, the entire time Chord completely forgot Mark even existed!

"What's up, buddy!" Chord yells excitedly over the increasingly loud music pumping into the air.

"Happy Birthday, mate," Justin as he pulls him into a bro hug.

Mark subtly rolls his eyes and just kind of half waves as the man invites himself to sit down. He feels kind of pathetic being jealous of someone, when it's obvious Chord has no idea the other man looks at him like he wants to devour him. He knows he is acting like an immature by giving the guy the cold shoulder, when it's not even his party and he's Chord's friend. And yes, he knows that his emotions switch around on him like a woman who is PMSing. But that didn't stop him from covertly glaring at the guy and wishing the Earth would just suddenly swallow him whole.

"Ah, fuck, man, it's good to see you!" Chord smiled. "Mark, you remember Justin."

'Yes, the man I am totally not thinking about stabbing in the face with the cake knife,' he thought bitterly. But he said, "Yeah, hey man."

"Getting sloshed, mates?" Justin asked and waved down a different waitress than the one from before.

Chord gave his signature grin, "You know it, brother."

Mark just swirled his glass and completely tuned out the undoubtedly smarmy reply from the bane of his existence.

You see, the problem with Chord is also the thing that makes Chord the most amazing person in the world. He's not someone that sees a person's bad side. He sees people for their good qualities, and isn't jaded or biased. He gives everyone (no matter how obviously evil or crazy) a fair chance to be loved and appreciated.

Unlike Mark.

Who is highly suspicious and reserved around people he doesn't know, and even people he does. He's sarcastic and cynical, not to mention judging and very guarded. He doesn't just open his arms and let people into his life or world. He gives the air of effervescence to the cameras, because he knows that what people want to see. But behind the scenes, he the guy sitting in the corner strumming a guitar and not talking to anybody.

But with Chord, he just lets any Joe Blow come waltzing like they've been there the whole time; and it makes Mark nervous for his friend. Because that's how you get hurt, as he's had to learn the very hard way.

A few more minutes pass as the other two kept talking, and before too long Mark's second cocktail is gone. Well, fuck. He hadn't planned on having more than one or two but – screw it. He had a reason now.

He stands and excuses himself, going to the bar to get another. When Chord hears this, he tells him he could just wait for the waitress to come back around but hell if he was going to put up with the man ogling that girl's breasts again. It was more than he could stomach for one night.

But when he was on his trek back to the table, he was surprised to see it empty. Looking off to the crowd, his shoulders sagged as he saw Chord and Captain Fantastic dancing with a group of beautiful women and laughing hysterically. Having left him entirely behind.

He sits down and watches them for a second before shaking his head. He couldn't even believe…no, he could. Because Justin was here.

Well, to hell with both of them. Chord had said he needs to have fun tonight, so that's exactly what he's going to do.

Taking a big gulp of his drink, he pastes a smile on his face and stands up to go join the fold of writhing bodies.

He's getting laid tonight.*

Mark jerked out of his reverie as a person tapped on his shoulder. Looking behind him, he heaved a heavy sigh. "You," he says to none other than David Boreanaz and takes another long sip of his wine.

Has he mentioned he hates wine? It takes like three bottles before you even get a buzz.

What are we coming to?  
I just don't know anymore

"Me," the older man grins, and comes to stand beside him. "Aren't you happy to see me again?"

Mark just rolls his eyes in his direction, "Overjoyed," he replies with a snort. "What are you doing here?"

David continues to grin and takes a sip of his champagne, "Enjoying what the world of the modern artists has to offer to enrich my life." He looks at Mark and pushes against his shoulder lightly with his own. "Otherwise known as, my publicist emailed me and said I had to go."

Mark kind of chuckled at that. "They do have a tendency to do that, huh?"

"Yep," Dave drawls. And then looks around him, taking in the sights of the bustling gallery.

Mark looks back at him, feeling awkward and not really knowing what to say to someone he barely knows yet feels attracted to.

There was that off-putting feeling again.

"So, you're an artist, right?" Dave asked and leaned back against the stark white wall behind him.

Mark did a double take at the man. "Yeah, kind of. I mean, I mostly sketch, but…how did you know that?"

"Wikipedia and Google are useful tools," the other man grins slyly.

The musician rolled his eyes, "Stalker," he muttered.

"No, curious," he observed and took another swig of his champagne. "And anyway, it would've been a natural assumption for most, considering from what I've hear you're kind of musical genius."

"Are you complimenting me, Mr. Boreanaz?" Mark ask with a playful note in his voice.

"Maybe," the man said a charm smile sliding into place.

Mark felt a smile mirroring on his own face, his first genuine one in what felt like months. "Natural assumption, eh?" he muses.

David nodded head before finishing off his glass and putting it on the servers tray.

"Well, I guess I can live with that," he chuckles. He looks at him from under his lashes, unwittingly giving the older man a sultry look, "But you have to promise to let me guess something about you."

With a grin, Dave leans forward, "Guess away. I'm an open book," he adds leaning closer.

Mark eyes him carefully, then 'hmm's' to himself. He spends but a moment thinking, when he realizes, he knows nothing of this wildly charismatic man. That troubles him, because in the two weeks in which they hadn't seen each other, the other had the forethought to at least attempt to read an online general bio. He had found Mark memorable enough to go that far, and yet, Mark couldn't have been bothered to return the same courtesy.

So, deciding that going the cheeky route would be the best direction to cover up he ignorance, he gives the bigger man another smile, and said playfully, "You don't particularly care about art, at all."

As expected the other man laughed and shook his head. "No, can't say it does," he laughs. "I'm more of a medieval weapons collector than an art collector."

That piece of info sent shivers down Mark's spine. He should find that disturbing, but yet, he can't get over fascinating it is. Or the slight jolt it gave his nether regions. He clears his throat, "That's…different," he manages.

Dave nods, "Yeah, well, Jamie likes art; and if she buys something than eh, okay. Whatever. But I just find the other so much more thrilling. It holds actual history."

"Art holds history," Mark scoffs. "That's why there's a whole major assigned to it."

Dave makes a face, "Art holds abstract history. It's all about what you think it means and shit. It's not about actual facts. I can pick an Iron Age axe, and know for certain what it does and what it was useful for. But a painting?"

Feeling a little affronted on behalf of his hobby, he defends, "It's because of art that we have visual as to what things like your Iron Age axe did; and the extent of the carnage that all of the wars throughout history caused." He crossed his arms, getting into his debate stance. "It's through art we made pathways to modern science. You're weapons haven't changed all that much over the centuries. An axe is still an axe. But art has not only changed drastically as the times change, it has also changed the face of our generation time and time again."

Dave just smirked at him, and for a second, Mark wondered what the hell he found so funny; but then he remembered how he was standing, and he blushed. Slowly relaxing, he just said, "So, you know…yeah…" very intelligently. There he went again, making people uncomfortable with his big brain.

Chord was right, he was a nerd.

The older man frowned. "Don't do that," he admonished.

"Don't do what?"

"Get embarrassed because you fight for what you believe in, or that you're actually really smart," He stepped forward invading his personal space and Mark fought not to step back. "Someone really did a number on you," the older man observed.

Mark crossed his arms again, this time to slightly withdraw from the closeness. This man just had a way with putting him off balance. It worried him, greatly.

"You're so gifted, but you've been programmed to think that's a bad thing," Dave said with a little frustration in his voice.

Mark looked away, "People don't really like when I show 'em up, so I do my best not to." He sighed, "I mean, not that I was trying to in the first place but – "

"But nothing," Dave finished, and Mark directly into the dark haunting eyes feeling that same chill from earlier pass through his spine. Dave smiled and put a gentle hand on his arm. "Come by my house tomorrow."

Mark laughed, "You're house? Why?"

"Because I think I have something that will be useful for you."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Mark pulled back, "I'll think about it."

Dave smiled. "Text me tomorrow and I'll text you the address."

"Excuse me?" a small voice called from the side of them.

They both looked to the mousy little photographer that was holding a camera that looked bigger than her head.

"Can I get a please?" She asked politely.

Dave immediately gave her a warm smile and wrapped one of his big and rather strong arms around his waist. Mark felt himself begin to blush, but he just tightened his arms across his chest and put on his most convincing smile.

With a squeaked 'thank you,' the girl scampered away and he felt more than heard Dave's chuckle.

"See you tomorrow," he said directly into his ear, and Mark did actually shiver when he felt the older man pull away.

"Fuck," he muttered quietly, and turned back to the statue again. "Yeah," he says to himself, "See you tomorrow."

Blame it on the black star  
Blame it on the falling sky  
Blame it on the satellite  
That beams me home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are appreciated!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and Kudos are much appreciated!!


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